, 1887-05-26
A TERRIBLE SECRET.

lay ~ bUliht4 a. u e wiz hLh1 bdIASh
ayes already beheld some friehtful vision.
Her sister, Suzanne de aTherelies, SIX
years her senior, knelt beside her, sobbing
bitterly Upon little table, drawn close
to the side Of the couch, a clean napkin
had been placed and two lighted tapers,
for they were awaiting the arrival of the
priest, coming to give extreme JUNCTION
and the last communion
1.-The apartment had that sinister aspect,
that air Of despairing ndieux, peculiar to
the chambers OF the dying; vials OF medi-
cine stood about upon the furniture;
linens were heaped In the corners either
by the loot or the broom, and the chairs,
disordered INT huddled in groups, seemed
as II affrighted, and death was there, con-
cealed and waiting.
The history Of these sisters was a very
sad md touching one, and talked OF far
and near through the neighborhood.
Suzanne, the eldest, had been devotedly
loved in her youth bya young man, hsnd-
some and good, and to whom she also was
much attached. They were fiancees and
only waited the day fixed by tho contract
to marry, when suddenly Henri de Sam
pierre was taken Ill and died. The despair
of the young girl was frfghtfuL. She
swore hat che would never marry, and,
putting on the dress OF the widowed,
which she never again left OF, Mile. de
ThereIles kept her word.
One morning as she was sitting In her
room thinking sorrowfully of the trouble
that had fallen upon her 30 cruelty the
doom opened, and Marguerite, at that time
not yet 10 years of age, threw herself into
her sisters arms, murmuring between
her sobs: "Do not cry, Suzanne. Oh, do
not cry. IL breaks my heart to see you
grieye. Surely you will not cry all your
lffa fOr II will pauor loota N, r,arori
Like you l will never marry, but remain
with you always"
Suzanne embraced her tenderly,
touched to the heart by the child's devo-
ton. Nevertheless, she did not believe
her; the day would come to Marguerite
that had come 70 her-she would love,
and then she would be alone again.
Suzanne, however, was mistaken; years
passed on, and the little one held to her
word. In spite OF the prayers OF her pa
rents and the suppiications OF her sister She
resolutely refused 70 marry. Beautiful,
charming and q general fayorite among
the young men of the neighborhood, L til
ing could alter her decision-she would
never quit her sister.
And thus they lived together side by
side In inseparable companionship. But
Marguerite was always sad, more detected
and melancholy, II possible, than Suzanne
herself. 1t seemed as II the sacrihcet she
had made, sublime as 1t was, had literally
crushed her. She grew old faster than
her sister; her hair turned as white as
nov before she was 30, and, constantly
suffering. she seemed like one struck by
some strange disease which always preyed
upon her.
Now she was dying, and dying first. In
t~wenty-four tours she had spoken but
once, and that only to ask for the cure.
IBID him come" she whispered
hoarsely, ''bid him come, and 7q~uickly.''
Suzanne had obeyed. Lying upon her
back, her haggard features drawn by.
friGhtful spasms, her lips moving without
uttering a sound, her eyes fixed and
sutlken,i Marguerite dc Thefelles was
hideous to look upon. Sobbing bitterly,
Suzanne still knelt beside her.
suddenly there was the noise OF foot
steps on the stairs, a moment Later apriest
Ia his supplies entered the room and
leaned above the dying woman. AS soon
as she saw him she began to toss rest
lessly about the bed.
."God pardon you. my ehild, {" said the
old cure tenderly; God pardon you and
give you peacel The hour has come-you
must speakt'
Marguerite shuddered from head to
foot as she heard the cures words. Again
and again she struggled to obey, but her
voice broke and died away in a sdhed
rattle.
Sit by me, Suzanne she whispered
at last; sit by me that you may hear and
listen"
Suzanne, ~astounded, rose to her feet
and seated herself beside her sister.
God give, them strength and send upon
them thy healing mercy" said the old
cure solemnly, lifting the hands of the two
women and holding them In his own.
Then Marguerite began. eL~ Apa
Pardon me, Suzanne" she cried;
pardon your retched sister. All, IL you
could only know how 1 have suffered, how
l have dreaded this hour, dreaded it all
my life longl"
'sPardon you, my httle onep, Suzanne
repeated; but what am l to pardon you
fort Have you not sacrificed yourself for
mel Have you not been an angelf'
mo, no" said Marguerite wildly, ''be
silent, L beg. will tell you all. Its
friGhtful, frightful; but do not stop me.
Speak must, even to the shameful end.
Do you remember Henri, Suzannep' APP
peahng abruptly to her sister. Suzanne
started and turned pale. Remember
Henri Would she ever forget himg
Yes" she answered, 81 remember
him"
HE died. continued Marguerite, ..be-
fore was lo-yes, beforeI was 10. How
spoiled 1 wasi How determined to have
my W wayl But never mind that now;
let us return to Henri. You remember,
do you not, the first time he Gamer 1t
was to bring us news Of father. 1 saw
him dismount from his horse. He was SO
handsome, SO noble 1ookingi / waited In
the corner of the salon all the time he was
talking. Children are 80 strange, SO ter
ribleF' she murmured, in tones OF agony.
After this he came almost every day. /
watched him always. always. was far
more artful han yoa knew, my sistor, for
l thought only Of him, and, child as l was,
/ loved him. -kEF
when they told me he was going to
marry You 10 was a bIow-a blow so ter
rible that night after night 1 spent the
hours in crying that should have been
given to sleep. You remember, Suzanne,
that every morning after breakfast Henri
would como TO spend the day with US, and
that frequently you made for him a plate
of those little cakes of which he was SO
~extrayagantly fond-I can see him eating
them now, and afterward drinking II glass
OF wine.
As the day for your marriage ap-
preached, how jealous l became-how
terribly, cruelty iealousl At last, about a
fortnight before the wedding day, 1 think
1 must have lost my senses. tAHe siiail
never marry 1 said to myself; above all,